Good evening Negative Soundbyters! I am sitting in my eerie looking over my neighbours; it is pretty much pitch black outside so I can’t do any nosey-neighbouring, but I do hear the odd firework go off. I am not sure why that is? Guy Fawkes is in November and yes it’s Halloween just around the corner but that’s all about sweets, pumpkins and great horror flicks, not blowing shit up! Mrs H did say “If any of those fireworks wake my baby up I’m going to knock on and give what for?” I was like “Ok then, you carry on, I’m going to fire up the latest episode of the new Star Trek on Netflix!” She hurrummphed, gave me a Vulcan death stare and returned to the kitchen to continue making one of my favourite soups, Stilton and Broccoli Soup. What a wife – I love you Mrs H!
Talking of love, Mrs H informed me the other evening that her latest technique in calming Rafe as he prepares for his evening feed, is “baby foot massage”. She even took a little video for me. Rafe was lying on his back on a thick White Company towel; the lights were low; a scented candle flickered in the background; there were some chilled baby-spa tunes on and there was Mrs H gently rubbing Aveno Baby Cream with Oatmeal into his little size zeros – oh, and don’t forget the gurgles of gratification emanating from one Rafe Hodson! I was like SAY WHAT? What about Hoddy Senior? Hoddy Junior wouldn’t know the difference if he was bathed in a puddle on the lawn (Okay a tad extreme but you get my point) and there he is kicking back as if he has just had an extremely hard day at the swamp and has decided that a treatment at the spa down at the Mandarin Oriental is in order……….not cool!
Give credit where credit is due though; it did work wonders. Usually Little Hoddy has me sprinting for the air raid shelter during the transition from bath to pyjamas, but throw in the foot massage, and he turns into Zen-Baba. Of course when I tried to emulate Mrs H’s massage technique he gave me one look and decided that I should indeed be consigned to that air raid shelter. I have a bit of practicing to do!
What of events of geopolitical significance to report….
Ah yes, Robert Mugabe held the role of “Goodwill” Ambassador to the United Nation’s World Health Organisation for all of two minutes this weekend, when it was summarily rescinded following a widespread outcry. I mean like, really? It’s frightening to think that it was even awarded in the first place to a man who has killed, tortured and displaced tens-of-thousands of his countrymen, destroyed the country’s economy and brought a once proud, self-sufficient nation to its knees. You can just imagine some committee stuck away in the upper echelons of that organisation so removed from us ordinary folk that they have long since stopped breathing the same air as us, shortlisting a series of names and when Bob’s name came up, all nodding sagely, and agreeing that “yes, a despot would be perfect to the fill the role of a “goodwill” ambassador to one of the UN’s most important global organisations”. You couldn’t make it up….
What follows is not made up either….enjoy!
Big Love
Hoddy
Mothercare.
Mothercare is the equivalent of Ikea but for Moms and Babas. (I do however have a small bone to pick with them; where does “Father” fit in? I feel as a father that I am being marginalised and I find the name of the brand prejudicial against Dads. I’m going to take this up with Jezza and his Momentum buddies; we might even be able to organise a picket outside Mothercare’s store in Croyden! OK Hoddy….. no more gins this evening..!)
So Mrs H wants to pick up a few more toys for Rafe. I am like “Do we have to?” The short answer to that question is “Yes” so off we head in the Sunday afternoon traffic to this massive Mothercare warehouse in a retail park in Croyden. One big bonus, no need to find parking as there is a sign directing those with babies into “baby-only” parking bays.
We park up, transfer Rafe into the buggy and into the shop we go. It is a baby and toddler paradise. Mrs H has a plan and heads into the clothing isles as apparently he is growing out of his baby grows and needs an entirely new wardrobe for that next 3-month growth stint (I hope he stops growing soon). I don’t have a plan and Rafe and I take a wander into the toys section.
Wow, it’s a veritable Santa’s workshop. Toys of all shapes, sizes, colours, materials, components and last, but by no means least – prices! Who would have thought that you could make a plastic hippo, paint it purple (because that’s realistic) with a smiley face, brand that it is a “perfect accompaniment for hours of bath-time entertainment” and charge twenty-five quid!! Two things: I don’t plan on spending hours in the bath with Rafe and secondly I don’t have £25 to invest on a floating hippo. But not to deprive my son and I did pass it by him; he looked down his nose at me and continued eating his hand.
Yup the teething stage is just about to commence. Mrs H found these very cool looking rubber teething toys which you put in the fridge; they become cold and it soothes the little man’s gums when he chews on them. We were eager to try it, so we bought one and gave it to Rafe. He nibbled on it, then spat it out and resumed chewing the end of his cashmere blanket. There we go then….
We ended up buying Rafe a christmas pudding outfit for Christmas (as you do) and this Baby Einstein Play Gym which he is enthralled by. It’s a big plastic map of the world decorated in a kaleidoscope of colours with all sorts of plastic animals hanging from different parts of the “gym”. He put his naked, baby bum slap on the middle of Africa (sometimes there are places referred to as the “arse end of Africa”) and chortled away as he prodded, pulled and poked at all the toys. He was in seventh-heaven.
That’s when Mrs H and I reached for our version of “seventh heaven”; a glass of wine and G&T respectively!
OUT :)
Pic of the Week
Wandering through Wandsworth Common recently and I came across this elegant beauty...
